


It's just me saying thanks...

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Background Relationships, Building Relationship, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Sibling Incest, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: I'm really bad for this. I think... Fëanor wants to thanks Fingolfin and he decides to make dinner.





	It's just me saying thanks...

**Author's Note:**

> First: I like Finarfin and I know he fought in War of Wrath, but i think, since Fingolfin and the others exiles' POV, he hasn't suffered as they did, so...  
> Second: I think maybe Fingolfin is driving some ecological car.  
> I was in romantic mode this days.  
> Enjoy it, everyone! Happy New Year!

It was just a form of saying thanks. It was just a small form of showing his appreciation for all he had done. It was the least he could do, after all.  
Fëanor repeat the words for himself while he chopped the vegetables and put them in the skillet. Nothing to do with two days ago events. Just gratitude, he repeat for himself and lit the burner.  
After all, last year had been difficult for both of them, and he hadn’t been of great help, sincerely talking. Yes, he was still the clever elf in the whole world, but modern human world confused him too much for trying of face it up already. He was _re-learning_ to be alive and… material again before he could think of making his own path. Without help. Without support. Without… Fingolfin.  
A century ago, if Námo had said him that he would be here, sharing an apartment with his half-brother – whom he left behind in Araman, whom he accused of betrayal, whom he threatened with his sword – he had laughed in Soul Keeper’s granite face. Actually, he had split himself laughing if Námo had said the same one year ago. But, when the Judge said that he would be free, he just thought where he could go. Nerdanel had left him a long time before they left the Blessed Realms. His father was living with Indis, and Fëanor was pretty sure she didn’t want her step-son in her house. And, his sons… well, some of them hadn’t been liberated of Timeless Halls yet and the others were trying to forget and fix themselves. It wouldn’t have been fair charging them with him too. So, he just walked out of Mandos without a plan… and then, he saw him.  
Fëanor pressed oven’s buttons and a smile curved his lips. He remembered how weird Fingolfin looked that day, with his modern attires, and his hair gathered in a knot, and that strange thing that he called “car” but looked like some toy for children under three. And, most important, he was waiting for him.  
“What are you doing here?”, was his greet. Fingolfin straightened himself, but kept his hands in his jacket’s pockets.  
“Is it not obvious?”, he replied, rolling his eyes.  
“I thought you had been forgiven.”  
“I had.”  
“Then, why is Námo punishing you with being my escort?”  
“I’m not here because Námo ordered it. I’m here for you. C’mom. Caranthir cooked today.”  
“Moryo doesn’t know how to cook.” Fëanor frowned.  
“Ah… he has learned how to. And he is pretty good. But he is the same impatient boy still, so…”  
He was right: Caranthir had learned how to cook. They stay in Tirion for two weeks. Finarfin – present High King – wanted that Fëanor asked for forgive publicly or he would be banished to Formenos. Again. Fingolfin didn’t take part in Court business anymore – he had had enough with been king of the Exiles for four centuries – but he demand of his full-brother that let things be. Fëanor was surprised of how stubborn “the golden sparrow” could be. Fingolfin came back from the palace saying that they were leaving.  
“For Formenos?” Fëanor asked, confused. “Are you going to exile with me?”  
“For Middle Earth.” Fingolfin answered. “I… We… Caranthir and I have an enterprise there. In… Spain. Beautiful country. Warm. Language is a little difficult but you will figure it out. Languages are one of your skills, aren’t they?”  
“Why?”, he just inquired, puzzled.  
“Finarfin has no power there. We don’t live in Valinor anymore, Fëanor. Fingon and Maedhros are living in France – other beautiful country – and Maglor is… working in his music around the world. I… we cannot accept Finarfin’s rule. Not us. We fight. We bleed. We cried. We died. He did not.”  
Fëanor didn’t ask anything else. He had few things, all of them given to him for his fourth son or his… brother. He no longer had a house or a wife… or projects. All that he had was them. So, leaving Valinor was easy.  
Actually, it was **the easy part**. Fingolfin and Caranthir’s enterprise wasn’t so little. Fingolfin has always been a good architect and builder, and Caranthir was an efficient administrator: they complement each other. In fact, they worked restoring old building most of all, but they were thinking of expand their field.  
While Valinor has remained almost the same after thousands of years, Middle Earth has changed a lot. Technology ruled human life, and Fëanor needed to learn how to live in this machine’s world. Machines that cooked? Machines that made plans? Machines that delivered messages? Machines that wove and paint and built? Where had creativity gone? Or personal hallmark in a work? Or just the pleasure of seeing your piece finished after the effort? He appreciated the intelligence and advantages of those machines, but he cannot just relinquish his way of doing things, of create with his hands. He cannot do it in one single day.  
Or in a year, he admitted for himself while he checked the pie. Apple pie: Fingolfin’s favorite. And it was his way of say “thanks”. Just that. Just… thanks. Not only for Fingolfin being patient with his stupid comments, or with Fëanor turning his first reunion with Maedhros a pitched battle, or he refusing to go to Maglor’s concert in Granada – beautiful city, by the way -, or he later crying because he wasn’t strong enough to face his own sons – and Fingolfin had been there, nodding off, while Fëanor talked all night. It was too for raising a wonderful man like Fingon, who made Maedhros’ eyes shine. It was too for picking the baton up when Fëanor just made himself killed in that silly battle. It was for not breaking his children’s heads when Fingolfin’s host arrived to Middle Earth. It was for building a business that made Caranthir less grumpy. It was for taking care of Maglor when he was barely sane. It was for being there although Fëanor had never been there for him.  
Fëanor thought of all those years he spent thinking ill of his half-brother. All those years that he wasted refusing to acknowledge Fingolfin’s virtues. And he had a lot of them! He was an amazing designer, a wonderful father – better than Fëanor himself, surely – a passable cooker, a funny partner… a powerful warrior, a fair ruler… a great king. Certainly, better than that yellow sparrow with his prudish ways. He forced himself to stop thinking about his vanyarin half-brother: he could ruin the meal and Fingolfin deserved better. Fingolfin deserved so much better, he thought.  
Fingolfin deserved someone who cared of him, who cooked every day new dishes, who was brave enough to confronting future beside him, who made him feel the most important person in whole world, who… loved him. Fingolfin didn’t need someone broken and afraid, and repentant, who almost jump when he had said that it was time for attempting new things.  
“You could try with jewelry”, Fingolfin had said while he laid down in the couch and turned the magic box called television on. “You’re pretty good in that. Not magic jewels, of course; but you are a great designer and jewels never go out of fashion, you know? Humans love jewels. They are like magpies. Like we used to be, in fact.” He smiled, amused and Fëanor put his glass on the table.  
“I… I would like to try”, he whispered. “But, I will need to… find out the new trends and… styles or… which is the fashion today. Just, give me some weeks, please.”  
In that moment, Fingolfin stared at him with that sorrowful look in his blue-silver eyes, as if he couldn’t believe that his proud big brother was this shy puppy who hidden his eyes.  
“It’s ok. We have much time. Whole eternity, actually.” He laughed. “On another subject, I was thinking on buying a bigger apartment, maybe a house.”  
“Why?” Fëanor had asked, baffled. Perhaps he was getting tired of sharing the room and Fëanor shacked with that thought.  
“This is too small. We need more rooms.” Holly shit. “ **You need** your own room”. Double holly shit. “A house would be perfect for a growing family.”  
A growing family? Did that mean that Anairë had finally decided to be a wife and follow his husband? For once and all? Did that mean that he had to share Fingolfin’s attention with **her**? Why? She hadn’t come the first time neither she showed herself when they were in Tirion! Why must she come and destroy everything? She didn’t deserve Fingolfin either! For the first time they both were knowing each other and… and being… happy together. Just both of them. With nobody else around.  
“You could have your workshop downstairs”. Ok: Fingolfin was talking again and Fëanor had to listen to him. “Beside mine. We could compare our works and criticize each other all night. We will let last room for Maglor and his music: he can be… exasperating when he’s in composer-mode, as you know. And the room next to his, for Maedhros and Fingon: they don’t need sleep in separate rooms now… neither ten thousand years ago, actually…”  
“They… Are they going to live with us?” he managed to ask, astonished.  
“Not the whole time, I hope. But, they will stay for holidays and weekends, I suppose. Caranthir also needs a room for him and his _girlfriend_ ”, he quoted last word with his fingers. “I don’t really understand their relationship yet. And two more rooms for Celegorm and Curufin when they were released… Finrod promised me that he would notify us when it happened… Of course, we must let a room for Aredhel. She will come as soon as Maeglin was released too. They need time to heal, far of Turgon and Finarfin, and people’s gossips. We could have a pool room… Have I told you that I love pool? I’m very good at it.”  
“That’s a many rooms’ house, brother”, Fëanor pointed out, quietly. “We will have to sleep in our workshops.”  
Fingolfin frowned and blushed like a teenager.  
“I… was counting with one room for both of us.” He confessed.  
Not Anairë. That was a wonderful new. Actually, it was the most wonderful new Fëanor has received in a long time. He thought he could kiss Fingolfin. He could… and he did it.  
For a brief moment, Fingolfin froze, his blue-silver eyes wide open and his lips still; but when Fëanor withdrew from him, the younger elf lift one hand and tangled fingers in loosen hair and then, they were kissing each other with tongues and teeth, their breathes catch in gasps, their bodies trembling with need. In Mandos, Fëanor almost forgot that he had a body once, last year he had been too puzzled for thinking in his physical needs… now, he was too much aware of his body’s demands. He wanted to experience everything, although he didn’t have fucking idea of what to do.  
Realizing Fëanor’s doubts, Fingolfin took the initiative and push his brother until he laid in the couch and he could cover him with his eager body. Fingolfin’s hands wandered over Fëanor, undoing his clothes, caressing his skin… and even when he was feeling those playful fingers, Fëanor jerked when warm tongue reach his nipple and went down his navel. Fëanor arched his back, moaning, begging, offering… And then, a noise broke the air. At first, Fingolfin didn’t react and Fëanor just bit his lower lip, trying to stay there, in that perfect moment; but the noise repeat itself and they found out it was the phone ringing.  
Fingolfin stood up with eyes darkened of lust and disheveled hair framing his lovely face. Fëanor felt his sex beating with life and need. Younger brother pick the phone up and look the tactile display.  
“Fingon”, he said, hoarsely. “He must have quarreled with Maedhros. He’s coming here. And that is why we need a bigger house.”  
Actually, they needed a psychoanalyst, Fëanor thought. Both of them. What the hell were they doing? Having sex?  
A beep shacked Fëanor out of his reveries. Meal. He had to focus in dinner if he wanted to have one perfect for Fingolfin. They hadn’t talked about that evening. They hadn’t talked at all in those two days after that, but he couldn’t prevent of staring at his brother’s back and wonder… Maybe, this night they could talk about it, after dinner, while sitting in the couch and planning about future, their future…  
Ok! Fëanor stopped himself of thinking in that way.  
“It’s just a way of thanking him”, he grumbled, annoyed. “It’s just a meal, for Eru’s sake!”  
Good work with that, said his inner voice. He ignored it.  
…………………………….  
Fingolfin let his bag over the table behind entry door and walked while massaged his neck. A delicious smell froze him in place. Had Fëanor cooked? Holly…! He loved his brother’s dishes: Fëanor was pretty good at kitchen. And at everything else, truly. In fact, he kissed as no one. Fingolfin straightened himself with the memory: oh god, he had wanted his brother for so long that he couldn’t remember when he realized it. He only knew that when Námo had summoned him for telling that Fëanor would be released, he thought that perhaps this time, he could get Fëanor’s love, if only as a brother, it was good enough for him. Nowadays, Fëanor had kissed him. It was Fëanor who took the first step. Maybe, one day, Fingolfin could convince his brother that they work much better together than against each other.  
He walked toward kitchen and found Fëanor setting the table.  
“Hi”, Fingolfin said.  
“You arrived early”, Fëanor pointed out, clenching his fists at both sides.  
“I thought about… go out for dinner.”  
“Oh”  
They stood without talking for some minutes, until Fingolfin indicated the table.  
“Did you cook tonight?”  
“Ah… yes. I wanted to… be useful.”  
“You don’t have to do it, you know? I’m glad with you just staying here.”  
“I know but I wanted to prove myself that I can be useful. It’s just me saying thanks to you.”  
“With dinner?” Fingolfin smiled.  
“Sort of. Unless you preferred a pair of magic jewels.” Fëanor proposed with a wink. “Or rings. Celebrimbor could help me with that.”  
Fingolfin burst out laughing and Fëanor joined him. After some minutes, the younger asked: “Is that a proposal?”  
Fëanor became serious.  
“Would you considerer it?”  
Fingolfin feel the air leaving his lungs. He almost felt on his knees before he could say, lighthearted:  
“Too soon for the rings, I think. Maybe… just dinner and movie later?”  
“That sounds great for me. Perhaps we could talk too, don’t you think?” Fingolfin nodded, almost floating with happiness. Could elves float? He was close to finding it out.  
“Probably you should go and take a bath”, Fëanor suggested, smiling.  
“Good idea”, Fingolfin admitted and turned, but he had taken few steps when he turned towards Fëanor again. “It would be much better idea if you come with me. We can talk,” he smile, teasing, “while we take a bath”.  
Fëanor hold his breath… and almost walk in the table. He had reached Fingolfin before he could found out what to do then, but Fingolfin spared him the thinking work and kissed him with love and joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry: Mae and Fin are very happy together.


End file.
